Shattering Diamonds

Chapter Two

The desk moans under my weight as I settle in giving the curious eyes an excuse to glance over. A man stands before the class uncharacteristically young for the antique theme that seems to encompass the school. His pressed dress shirt strains to cover the muscles of his arms and shoulders. As he describes the two year history course there’s a glint in his eyes that I haven’t seen since grade school. He looks young but it doesn’t occur to me how young he is until I realize that his spirit is still new and hasn’t been crushed yet.

The bell is grand and shrill like a cross between church bells and a prison alarm. After the initial shock of the dooming noise wears off everyone stands and we shuffle through the corridors to the next class like a heard of sheep. We repeat this migration six times through the day until finally the bell releases us for the night.

I walk back down the front stairs with what seems like half the amount of life and twice the amount of anxiety as I had when I made my way up them this morning. Weary, my feet barely lift from the ground until I hear snickering a few feet from my left side.

I almost have to heave my already full book bag to turn and see them. Four guys and a very tall girl look expectantly at me.

“You’re new right?” That specific question is one of the most annoying sentences I’ve ever heard but he’s cute so I hide my scowl.

“Yea, just transferred from Blue Lake,” I reply.

His eyebrows raise as whatever stigma about my most recent ‘old school’ runs through his mind. After a few telepathy looks are exchanged between the group he looks back at me, “That homework can wait for later come get coffee with us.”

“Hell, let’s be honest, I wasn’t going to do it any way. Sure, I’ll go throw my stuff in my car and follow you guys.” I hurl my ball-and-chain back pack into the passenger seat and my shoulders celebrate while I wait a few seconds to see a sleek black Camaro in front of me. There’s no way that’s his right? He gives me a sideways nod and I follow him out of the parking lot. We drive down a network of winding, nearly dirt, roads and pass a groundskeeper’s house that’s almost bigger than some of the schools I’ve attended. The lofty foliage lays the most beautiful green blanket over everything and for a moment I’m back in my humble home town. That is until, in a burst of feathers, a mourning dove meets my windshield in the worst way. The shock wakes me from my day dream and guilt stabs me. I spray the washer fluid and turn on my windshield wipers to clean off the remaining blood and feathers. Seeing it makes me sick.

I’m surprised this coffee shop is still in business with there being a Starbucks on every corner. When I step out of my car the group is laughing.

“And here come the ruthless killa, the mighty dove fighta, the one and only Bird Batta!” The short one exclaiming in a rather convincing announcer’s voice. The other two start rapping about my rampage and scorched earth. The girl just cackles and only the one I that invited me notices my still green face, “I guess you could really use some coffee,” he smirks.

Once the laughter dies down we all make our way inside. The quaint shop is decorated in deep blues and golds and the academy’s crest sits gaudily on the wall over the bar. From the outside it looks like a modest Tudor house but the inside, like everything seems to be in this town, is massive and ostentatious. The café is already buzzing so we slide into the only booth left. The shortest boy feigns terror of my presence and gestures to the seat. The cute one sits across from me, the other two boys next to him and the girl caps off my booth.

“So Bird Batter, even though were probably not going to use it, what’s your name?” His striking blue eyes seem to dare me, or maybe that’s just his smirk.

“Alliana, and by the way it’s Queen Bird Batta to you,” this gets some laughs.

“Well I think that’s a lovely name, your highness,” the short one starts rambling in an Italian accent that is spot on as the cute one says to me, “I’m Prescott, your humble servant.” This is the first time I notice that he has an accent of his own and it’s deliciously British.

The table goes around introducing themselves: the two boys are James and Jerrod, they’re twins, the girl’s name is Wren, and the short, theatrical boy is Charles but everyone calls him Chuckles.

“So are you Italian?” Wren asks.

“Full blood,” I say trying not to sound too proud.

“So you in the mob?” Charles asks trying to sound as shady as possible.

“My Papi was a boss for a while,” I respond evenly. Their eyes all widen.

“Wait, really?!” Wren perks up?

“No,” I scoff, “why does everybody think that?” I notice them all let go of their breaths and relax.

“Do you speak Italian?” This time it’s James that asks.

“Sì, è utile quando si visita vecchia famiglia. We have to know it when we visit family and vacation in Italy.”

His arm reached out over the back of the booth, Prescott summons the waitress with a flick of his wrist. Every one orders their flavored and loaded drinks and when they get to me I feel my cheeks burn slightly as I ask for a black coffee and fruit platter. Even the waitress is a little bit caught off guard, “Would you like any sugar or creamers?”

“No thank you, but do you have coconut oil?” I ask tentatively.

Suddenly she perks up, “we do actually, and butter would you like it bulletproof?”

“Yes! That would be lovely,” relieved to know that she understands I feel better trying to explain why I put butter in my coffee to the table. I tell them of my veganism and the health benefits of bulletproof coffee which in turn leads to a Q&A about vegans. I tell them that I only eat plants and yes I do shave but no I don’t use products made with or tested on animals.

When the food comes I share my fruit with every one and we make small talk. As we wrap up our little chat Chuckles suggest we do ‘this’ again and James elects Friday after school. The whole time Prescott only said about ten words after the introductions. When the bills come he picks them up and when I offer to pay Jerrod gently pushed my hand back.

Prescott opened the door for all of us to leave and as I exit at the end of the procession I get the overwhelming sense of peering eyes on my back and hear whispers.

I go back to my car after waving good bye to everyone and even getting a hug from Wren. There’s four missed calls from my mom on my phone. After a brief moment of panic I put her call on the Bluetooth and speed home.